


i don't know if you're looking for romance

by blamefincham



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamefincham/pseuds/blamefincham
Summary: “So you’re saying you like to go to the dirty areas,” Quick replies, looking amused.“Hey, whatever it takes to make the play,” Brandon says airily.“Gotta get those pucks deep, right,” Quick says.





	i don't know if you're looking for romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helveticaneue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helveticaneue/gifts).
  * Inspired by [something borrowed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11672220) by [helveticaneue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helveticaneue/pseuds/helveticaneue). 



> A prequel to [something borrowed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11672220), or: the UST before the glorious idfic. Thank you for bringing this pairing into the world; hope you enjoy my take on it!

The World Cup is pretty cool, if Brandon’s honest. It’s true that he’s played in red, white, and blue his entire career, but he hasn’t actually suited up for his country since Worlds in 2010, and nobody gives a shit about Worlds. Nobody really gives a shit about this either—it’s no Olympics—but at least it isn’t a playoff consolation prize. 

In any case, what it has in common with the Olympics is having to quickly make a team out of guys who hate each other’s guts for the rest of the year, and the coaches like to do that by handing over their credit cards and encouraging celebrations, early and often. 

Today, they’re ostensibly celebrating their performance in the exhibition games. They won one and lost one, but nobody’s turning down free food and booze, and it’s definitely making guys more friendly. 

Brandon, for example, feels loose enough to chirp Jon Quick, who has one of the scariest sets of goalie murder eyes he’s ever encountered. Quick’s talking to Bish about some goalie bullshit Brandon doesn’t understand, but then Bish compliments him on his form, and—there’s his in.

“Yeah, well, I scored on him in practice,” Brandon cuts in, grinning, “so he’s human.”

Quick turns to him, raises an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, it’ll be the last time,” he says, slightly cool.

Brandon scoffs. “I could score on you whenever I wanted.” It’s patently untrue, but he feels like pushing the envelope tonight, and Quick smirks. 

“Sure, if you like pity goals,” he says. Bish is watching this like a spectator at a tennis match, and he laughs after that one. Goalies, they stick together; it’s the worst. 

“Call them whatever you want to,” Brandon says, shrugging. “They all count the same.” 

Quick’s actually turned around now, so he’s facing Brandon head-on, looking at him kind of speculatively. It makes Brandon feel flushed in a way that’s definitely not just the alcohol. He’s not just talking about the hockey kind of scoring anymore, and he suspects Quick might not be either. 

Quick glances at Bishop, who’s distracted talking to Jack, and then he turns back to Brandon. “Do you really think you’d be the one who’d be _scoring_ in that situation?” Quick says, a little more quietly.

“You trying to ask if I pitch or catch? I play hockey, not fuckin’ baseball,” Brandon replies, leaning back in his chair a little. Quick kicks at the leg of it so that it settles hard onto the floor, knocking Brandon a lot closer to Quick than he had been. 

“So you’re saying you like to go to the dirty areas,” Quick replies, looking amused. 

“Hey, whatever it takes to make the play,” Brandon says airily. 

“Gotta get those pucks deep, right,” Quick says.

Brandon’s got another flirty comment on the tip of his tongue, but then Pavs starts clapping guys on the shoulder, reminding them that they’ve got a game tomorrow, and—right. Bad idea. Brandon catches Quick’s eye again, and Quick smirks, shrugs a shoulder, and turns away, like a non-verbal ‘Maybe next time.’

Brandon isn’t sure if he hopes for a next time or not.

—

The game is...rough. Brandon’s, like, not totally sure it isn’t the amount of alcohol they all drank last night, but they were sloppy to say the least, and the final score of a 0-3 loss to the made-up Team Europe is pretty embarrassing. 

But for once, Brandon doesn’t dwell on it. Yeah, he was pissed for like twenty minutes after the game, but then he thought to himself, ‘Maybe I should go see if Quickie wants to blow off a little steam,’ and okay, he’s man enough to go after the things he wants, especially if he still wants them when he’s not drunk anymore.

He happens to know what room Jon is in because he noticed him going into it last night, but he doesn’t even end up needing to knock: when Brandon turns the corner in the hallway, Jon’s coming out of his room carrying the ice bucket. 

“Just the man I was hoping to see,” Brandon says, grinning as he heads over.

Jon raises an eyebrow at him. He looks just as pissed as Brandon expected, tension all through his shoulders. “What,” he says sharply. 

“Jesus, you’re uptight,” Brandon says. “It was one game, it’s still your net to lose.” 

Jon rolls his eyes and says, “I’m not in the mood for this.” 

He tries to shoulder past Brandon, but Brandon steps in his way. “Not in the mood for what?” 

Jon takes a step closer, and he almost starts to look like he’s having a little fun with this conversation. There’s a little less murder in his eyes, a little more of a smirk playing across his lips. “You _know_ what.” 

Brandon smirks right back, leans in a little, and says, “I know what I’m here for. Are you gonna give it to me?”

Jon looks like he’s thinking about it. He’s definitely not moving away, which is a good sign. Then he shifts the ice bucket to his other hand, opens his mouth—

And Buff’s door opens. The tension breaks; they both step back a little too quickly, and Buff looks between them, slightly suspicious. “Hey big man, how’s it going,” Brandon covers hastily, and Jon...well, he turns around, shoulders tense again, and goes to get his ice.

‘Next time,’ Brandon thinks.

—

But then Brandon gets scratched and Jon sits and they lose to Canada, and neither of them really feel like hooking up after that. 

—

Brandon’s not dumb; he knows that the peak of his career is behind him, and that he’s probably not going to play for Team USA again. Jon’s all the way on the west coast, they play each other twice a year, and—it was nothing serious anyway. It’s not like Brandon’s doodling their initials in a heart all over his notebooks or anything. 

Then Cam proposes to his girlfriend, and he asks Brandon to be one of his groomsmen, and Brandon remembers that Cam and Jon went to high school together. 

And Brandon thinks: _maybe._


End file.
